


Aloe

by ohitsbo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Drabble, Extended Metaphors, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Symbolism, i just love this man a lot, the relationship aspect is less important– instead it's mostly about oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10059083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohitsbo/pseuds/ohitsbo
Summary: I should be writing a continuation of Your Graduation, but instead, I'm Projecting™.Thank you for reading!!





	

_ tooru wraps paper arms around himself, protecting a flaccid torso from the intrusive wind, the kind of wind that doesn’t know when to stop prying, the kind of wind that he finds comfort in, once and awhile, when he searches for fond familiarity in similarities. but now, the mental reflection of the breeze leaves him pitiful and shuddering in the alcoves of his own mind, a million paper airplanes whizzing about him, leaving cuts on his skin where paper meets paper and insecurity meets fact. he licks his wounds from the confines of his mattress. a toe out of line will only bring tooru the sensation of eating something too sweet for too long. it’ll bring exhaustion. it’ll bring the possibility of airplanes. it’s best to sit here and lick his wounds until spit turns to blood. it’s difficult for him to immerse himself into any other simple task, some sweat to put out the fire, when every time he lays his hands on something he deems himself unworthy of it.  _

 

_ he wonders how people live like this.  _

 

_ like every time he hears his name called it’s like being reborn, until he deciphers tone and conduct, until he’s hit over the head with it. like a footnote is only a footnote until it can pertain to him. like he can’t open his mouth without spilling tans and greys from between his chapped lips. like whenever he catches sight of a personality that fits his fancy, his brain copies it with the little resources it has. like percentages will only ever represent how full he is, and 65% is a failing grade. he wonders if it will ever be alright, or if it’s only after you’ve been folded a dozen times that you start to resemble something useful. he wonders if someone would do that for him. he wonders if he can do it himself.  _

 

_ tooru’s mattress fortress sags into his bed frame and he tries to keep himself durable under layers of bandages, chargers, and clothes, an accumulation of all things he deems constant enough to bring him comfort during days like this, when his own skin is no longer a warm enough coat.  _

 

_ the wind picks up. _

 

_ tooru wraps paper arms around himself tight enough for white to press into pink, and that’s when  _ he _ comes in, squeezes his hands until he lets  _ him  _ smooth tooru’s crumpled skin.  _

 

_ blink once to see stability, blink twice to see koushi.   _

 

_ he smiles and reminds him that primary colors cannot be made, only utilized, and that he should never feel guilty about his pure blues and reds and yellows because they are, simply put, pure; they are a natural and undeniable part of him. koushi spins white carnations into his greasy brown hair while speaking softly of the charms of his fortress and the charms of the rips in his legs and arms.  _

 

_ koushi fills him up with feeling once more, with spark and fire and all things nauseatingly incendiary, and then koushi leaves as quietly as he came, using tooru’s airplanes as a means to get back home. he leaves, and tooru whimpers. he leaves, and tooru feels horrible for hoping that he’d never go away.  _

 

_ he leaves, and tooru wraps paper arms around himself, knowing that the cycle is here to stay.  _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing a continuation of Your Graduation, but instead, I'm Projecting™.  
> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
